


blink back to let me know

by Ravenesta



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (in a purely nonsexual way), (promise), Hair stroking, M/M, Modern AU, like.. i am honestly disgusted with how fluffy this turned out to be, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 23:48:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6350506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenesta/pseuds/Ravenesta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lazy afternoon in the apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blink back to let me know

**Author's Note:**

> this is the spiritual successor to [Sharing Body Heat](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5192546), a.k.a the one i always meant to write a sequel to i _swear_

Alex is pretty sure he has a thing for hair. Well, specifically, John’s hair.

He doesn’t think that it’s a hair _tugging_ kink, or even that it’s inherently _sexual_ (though he’s put both of those thoughts away for consideration at a later date.)

Sometimes, though, when they’re at the apartment and Alex is on the sofa, John will stick some shitty movie on the tv and lay down with his head on Alex’s leg, shifting until he’s comfortable, sometimes grabbing a cushion to use as a pillow. He’ll start a running commentary about the terrible acting, the cheap effects, or the piss-poor script writing and Alex goes along with it of course, would never pass up a chance to shittalk _anything,_ but that’s all secondary to the fact that these are the times when John lets Alex touch his hair. Doesn’t just _let_ him, practically encourages it, shifting and angling his head just slightly every so often until Alex starts running his fingers through the dark curls. The motion usually becomes rhythmic, practically involuntary as they half-watch the movie, smoothing it down only to feel it spring back up under his fingers.

Putting on a movie is, of course, John’s poorly disguised excuse to take a nap at two in the afternoon, so as soon as he starts mumbling, Alex takes this as his cue to start digging nails into his scalp, dragging down lightly to hear whatever John was trying to say be cut off by a contented hum.

Alex doesn’t even remember the name of today’s movie, only that they spent the first half of it laughing about _werewolves in space._ Now, though, he’s pretty sure John is caught somewhere between asleep and awake, eyes closed but a small smile on his face, humming and angling up into Alex’s fingers as he tries to pull John’s hair back and tuck it behind an ear. It’s fairly easy to tell when he _does_ fall asleep; he sighs, settles somehow deeper into the couch, and half-heartedly nuzzles the cushion. Alex smiles, lets his hand still, fingers buried in long curls. If he’d stopped while John was even a fraction awake, he’d have started grumbling, shifting discontentedly until Alex started stroking again. As it is, John just makes a slight snuffling noise, the hand that isn’t trapped somewhere under his body twitching.

Alex tries to tune back into the movie, but he’s not certain that the plot would’ve been coherent if he’d been paying attention the entire time, possibly not even if he’d been taking notes, so instead he lets his head loll backwards, eyes drifting shut. He falls asleep to the droning tones of an emotionless monologue, and the miniscule rise and fall of John’s breath under his hand.

Alex wakes up first. He alway has, quite possibly always _will,_ because there’s an impossible amount of things that he has to do and there’s not quite enough time in the world for napping, regardless of how very little he’d like to get up right now. The continued weight of one John Laurens on his leg is surprisingly an acceptable argument to his mind, so he contents himself with switching the tv to the news, and settles back to be angry at the government until John wakes up. He knows he tends to move in his sleep--not quite so much when he’s on a couch, rather than a bed--and notes that his hand has migrated at some point from John’s hair to curled at the base of his neck. _Thank God,_ he thinks. He’s fairly certain his entire arm would’ve cramped if he’d slept with it twisted around like it had been.

John’s waking up routine mainly involves sighing and stretching. It’s the sharp intake of breath as he’s stretching his legs that first tips Alex off. He hears something pop before John releases a heavy sigh, and Alex has to lift his hand to stop it from getting caught as he rolls onto his back. He mumbles something up at Alex about his arm being numb, Alex returns that _his_ leg is numb, and John just laughs, a low drowsy sound that isn’t nearly loud or animated enough for Alex to feel it through the pillow _or_ the pins and needles in his leg, but it seems to reverberate up into his chest regardless.

With a low moan of self-protest, John pulls himself up so that he’s sitting beside Alex, who has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing. The hair on the side that John had been lying on is pressed oddly flat against his head, a start contrast to the wild, puffy mess that Alex’s fingers have made of the other half.

When John catches his eyes he _smiles,_ and it’s the one that makes Alex’s breath catch in his throat and something in his chest seize, because John’s eyes are hooded, drowsy, and the pull of his lips is easy and relaxed and Alex has never seen anything like this, has never seen a work of art that so effortlessly mimics the light of a sunset pouring through a window in the evening, warm and easy and tired and _beautiful-_

Never, until him.

He can’t say it. For all of his words, for all of the speeches and phrases and ideas that seem to occupy his thoughts _constantly,_ he doesn’t think there’s anything he could say that could completely contain everything he wants, _needs_ him to know. He’s too much of a coward to try to voice it, anyhow. Some part of him hopes that John _knows,_ that he _must_ after all of this time, and Alex has always worn his heart on his sleeve, is terrible at hiding it.

So, he reaches up with a hand, brushes a few of the wilder strands away from his face, leaves his fingers lingering lightly on John’s cheek.

 _My dear Laurens,_ he murmurs into the space between them, knows that everything he’d intended to say, everything he couldn’t bring himself to, is contained in his returning smile, the awe and adoration which creeps into his voice. There’s a huff of air, a silent snort of laughter, and Alex is absolutely terrified until John leans forward and kisses him softly. John is, Alex thinks, the braver of the two of them, is _certainly_ in this situation. It’s nothing more than a quick press of lips, both of them grinning into it too much to start seriously _moving_ , but Alex can’t bring himself to be too disappointed when John pulls away so that their foreheads are touching, eyes closed and still smiling like the sun. John reaches blindly until he’s grabbed Alex’s wrist, shifts until he’s laced their fingers together and _this,_ Alex thinks, _this_ means more than any words ever could.

**Author's Note:**

> title from panic at the disco's "always"  
> this was a drabble that started as "alex probably really likes touching john's hair" and ended up going way further than i intended and now it's just. fluff.  
> it was also spat out at about 1 am so if you spot any horrific errors hmu  
> im also on tumblr @ vicesandvipers


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